


Strappy Heels

by hellostarlight20



Series: Shall We Dance [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dates, F/M, Nine in a tux, Romance, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6742771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor takes Rose to a concert. Post-Dalek</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strappy Heels

**Author's Note:**

> #2 in the Shall We Dance Series of stories based on 10 words or phrases by @caedmonfaith.

Rose debated slipping her heels on after leaving the TARDIS. To be fair, she had experience with walking across the console room grating in heels and it wasn’t what she classified as fun. In any circumstance.

But she wanted to look her best and the black dress with the crisscross backing accentuated her curves in a way she always dreamed. The shoes, sleek black heels with a single strap over the top of her foot, only made her look complete as far as Rose was concerned.

Doing up the sparkly clasp, Rose checked her makeup and hair, added a touch more lip gloss, and nodded.

“What do you think?” she asked the TARDIS.

The warm yellow roundels flickered once— _yes_ —and Rose grinned. She pressed her had to the wall of her bedroom in thanks. Rose spun in a circle, watching the flair of the skirt as she did so. She’d never owned a dress so beautiful, so…flirty.

“You spoil me,” Rose murmured to the TARDIS. She meant both the TARDIS and the Doctor, with dresses and festivals and musical concerts.

The roundels flickered once, twice, three times— _my pleasure_. At least that was how Rose always took it. She grinned wider.

“Are you dressed yet?” the Doctor called from the hallway. “We’re going to be late.”

“Time. Machine.” Rose snipped back and grabbed the small wrist-purse with her mobile, lippy, and mace.

She waved her hand over the door sensor, double checking to make sure the surprisingly versatile mace’s cap was tightened and her TARDIS keychain was securely fastened to the inside of the purse. She shouldn’t need anything else, right? What more was there to need—

And oh dear God what had she done to deserve this?

The Doctor stood in the hallway, arms folded over his chest. He wore his tux, that gorgeous piece of tailoring he wore weeks ago when they landed for the sun festival. It hugged his lean arms, outlining them beautifully, and somehow highlighted the blue of his eyes.

 _Thank you_ , she whispered to whoever listened to the fantasies of London estate girls.

Rose tore her gaze from his body and tried desperately to focus on his eyes. Was it her fault she stared? No. It was not. No one should look utterly delectable in a tux. Or maybe that was the point of tuxedoes, to make everyone look gorgeous, but the Doctor…

He didn’t just look gorgeous. He looked—wow. Just wow.

“So where are we going?” Rose tried not to sound as breathless as she probably did.

“Menilos,” the Doctor said and stepped back.

She cleared her throat. Again. Suddenly it was very hot in here. No doubt her cheeks flushed and his damn superior senses heard her increased heart rate. However Rose merely nodded and stepped into the hallway.

On the other hand, Rose had a lot of practice hiding her feelings for the Doctor.

Pushing all that aside, as best she could, she ignored it. Knew the Doctor did as well. Maybe he didn’t feel the same? Probably not. But she never acted on it, and imagined he was all too grateful she didn’t push the attraction she felt for him.

Another breath—of the ship and the Doctor—and she turned sharply for the console room.

The Doctor walked beside her, prattling on about the orchestra and the history and she had no idea what. _Focus, Rose, focus! On his words…not his bum._ Or the feel of his hand on your back. His touch was cool and comforting, a steadying pressure of…of…

Connection? Of the two of them.

She leaned into the touch, hoping she adequately conveyed that same connection. He said, after the Dalek and after _I’d know. In here. Feels like there’s no one._ He said his people were touch telepaths. Rose wasn’t so presumptuous as to think he constantly touched her, held her hand, hugged her, because he wanted whatever faint telepathic connection he could manage with a Human.

Yes she was.

She was very presumptuous and admitted it. To herself.

But tried not to think so whenever the Doctor did touch her. Whenever his hand held hers or touched her bare back as it did now. Whenever her skin heated from his touch and sparked lower in her belly. Just in case whatever faint connection they shared translated those particular thoughts.

“It’s where that instrument is from, yeah?” Rose asked.

She tried very, very hard not to think about the Doctor in a tux or how his hand felt on her back or anything directly related to the two of them and touching. Or, for that matter, how his fingers caressed the instrument, long and sure and she’d stared. Oh, she’d stared at his hands.

At the console room doorway she clasped onto the Doctor’s clothing-clad arm so as not to break an ankle.

“The one from the bunker?” she added, sorry she was no longer touching his skin.

Did she sound normal? She did, right? Unaffected she hoped. Rose eyed the TARDIS coral and wanted to ask but no. No way could she ask the ship and not have to explain that to the Doctor. Still, if the TARDIS could, indeed, read her thoughts…

Two slight flashes of light— _no_.

Damn.

Wait—did that mean ‘No you sound normal’? Or ‘No you don’t’?

Probably the latter, with her luck. Rose eyed the TARDIS lights again, but the remained stubbornly normal. 

“Don’t know why you wear these things,” he grumbled.

She clung to the ready-made excuse he offered to leave her tumbling thoughts behind and grinned up at him, She held out her leg for his inspection. Rose was forcibly reminded of the last time they dressed up and she did the same thing.

“Makes my legs look good,” she said and deliberately let her tongue tease the corner of her mouth.

Gratified his gaze zeroed in on it, Rose nonetheless berated herself. She was supposed to _not_ act affected, not tease him. And herself.

She carefully lowered her foot, clad in strappy heels that did, indeed, make her legs look good. Her knees wobbled like jelly and her fingers dug harder into his arm. Caught in his gaze, she forgot what she wanted to say. Or how to think.

Was breathing necessary? No, right?

The Doctor’s hand reached up, his long fingers brushing against her cheek. Warmth rushed through her, the sharp spark of it mixed with the sheer affection she felt for this wonderful, amazing man. Throat closed with trepidation and longing, she tried to tear her gaze from him.

If he knew what she wanted, how she felt, he’d laugh. Rose knew it. She knew it even though she wanted that touch-connection with him. Even if he wanted such a connection, a bond or link or whatever with her as well, it was a far larger step than _wanting_.

Wanting all of him.  
Or him wanting all of her. Or even wanting her at all.

So Rose cleared her throat and pulled back from his touch. His impossibly soft touch. Looking down, she purposely stepped along the grating. But no matter how she stared at the flooring, she didn’t really see it.

Sure enough, she didn’t pay attention and her ankle twisted.

The Doctor caught her, easily pulling her against him. “Humans and their footwear.”

Rose blinked and looked up at him. Surprised by her stumble, by his sudden closeness, by the way he held her.

“Rose?” He frowned and cupped her jaw, tilting her face just a fraction. It went through her like lightning, so fast and sharp she felt it clear through to her soul. “You okay? Didn’t hurt yourself did you?”

Silently she shook her head.

She was certain she had words, loads of them. Every single one fled from her mind with his gentle, concerned touch.

His fingers lingered on her cheek, her temple. Rose leaned into his touch, felt it again. That spark, that warmth—she had no idea how to describe it. But _awareness_ seeped through her as it sometimes did. Not just physically.

Rose was constantly aware of him. Where he stood, how he stood, what he was doing or going to do. The coiled energy of the Doctor as he paced through an idea or waited—waited—waited for the right time to speak or strike. How he watched his surroundings but wasn’t always a part of them yet all eyes, everyone’s attention focused on him.

 _This_ awareness…it wasn’t the same. At least she didn’t think so. It was a deeper, stronger mindfulness or understanding or recognition. As if, if she concentrated hard enough, Rose might know what went on in that big Time Lord brain of his.

And, with just small push, he’d know how very much he meant to her.

“Yeah,” she managed and wondered why she said that. Oh. Right. Rose nodded and cleared her throat. “Yeah, I’m good. Wasn’t paying attention,” she said quite truthfully.

“Hmph.” But he held her for another moment, hands firm and gentle on her waist as she regained her balance.

Rose cleared her throat again and nodded. “See?” she said as they stepped from the TARDIS. “No harm.”

He eyed her carefully with more than a little scrutiny in that look, then nodded. “You sure about those heels?”

Rose breathed in deeply of the cool evening air and wondered if she needed a wrap. “Hmm? Oh, yeah.” She wisely didn’t lift her leg this time but looked down at the gorgeous things. “I like them. They’re fun and strappy and go with the dress.”

Once more the Doctor eyed her, and her heels, but only nodded. He cleared his throat and offered his arm. Rose slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and leaned her head on his shoulder. She also may have sighed, but there wasn’t a being in this universe who could blame her.

Not with the way the Doctor looked. Or how he made her feel—like the smartest woman ever with his bright smiles and proud hums of approval. She sighed again and closed her eyes, trusting him to guide her wherever they headed.

Her strappy heels tapped against whatever passed for concrete here, the only sound between them. She wanted it to stay like that forever, the closeness of their, their—friendship nothing more—the understanding.

Rose squeezed his hand and using whatever telepathic ability she may or may not possess, silently promised him nothing’d ever change between them.

She swore she heard the Doctor suck in a quick breath but when she looked up he stared straight ahead; his face revealed nothing.

“Tell me about the instrument again?” She once more closed her eyes and returned her head to his arm.

“It’s an old thing,” he said in a voice caught between nostalgia and imparting knowledge. “Meant to be played in a larger orchestra. Like the bells or something. Or in the privacy of a home.”

Rose only nodded and hummed. Slowly she opened her eyes. The city looked like many others they visited. Crowded and tall, the buildings towered over them like many other skyscrapers with large windows and old, worn stone. Not as artistic as the buildings on Heliona but just as beautiful in their own right.

The people looked like others she’d seen as well. Humanoid enough that neither she nor the Doctor stood out amongst the crowd.

“Where did you learn to play it?” She looked up at him as she asked, hoping for a snatch of information about his past.

He never talked about what happened before the Time War. Only told her who their enemies were after meeting the last Dalek. The Doctor admitted where he traveled after the War, President Kennedy’s assassination and Krakatoa, the Titanic. A couple other dangerous places the bloke, Clive, hadn’t documented. Or hadn’t shown her. But the Doctor never told her about his life _before_.

“Traveled here a few hundred years ago,” the Doctor said in that soft, wistful voice he used sometimes. The melancholic sentimentality of memory.

Of the past.

She heard that tone of voice from him before. Too many times for her liking though he always blew it off afterward, changed the subject, grabbed her hand and ran, anything to leave the past as far behind as possible. But it always clung to his back. His soul.

She heard it in his voice when they were in the bunker that began this journey to Menilos. She never asked what that metallic head behind van Statten’s glass case was called and wondered again now. But now wasn’t the time to ask.

“It was with Romana,” he admitted regretfully.

Rose tried not to jerk away from the admission. She couldn’t stop her hand from tightening around his, however, or her other hand coming up to rest on his arm. When had they gone from walking formally arm-in-arm to holding hands?

“She didn’t want to return to—” he cleared his throat. “Gallifrey.” He pushed the word out and Rose’s breath hitched. It was only the second time he used his planet’s name. “So we came here for the performance.”

She opened her mouth to say something. _I’m sorry_ or _I’m glad we’re here_ or some other horribly trite thing. Nothing emerged. Rose snapped her mouth shut and squeezed his hand tighter.

And pushed. She pushed all her sympathy and heartache for him in that single squeeze of her hand. And Rose hoped, with whatever part of him that remained telepathic that he felt her…her sorrow for him. Because no matter what, _there was always her_.

 ** _There’s me_** , she willed him to understand.

The Doctor looked down at her with a small, soft grin. His eyes, normally ice blue, looked stormy, greyer rather than blue. She felt his regret, his hopeless loss. Rose stopped them and ushered him to the edge of the sidewalk next to the corner of a building.

His pain overwhelmed her and, at a loss, Rose did what she usually did. She pulled him close and hugged him. **_There’s me_**. One hand cupped the back of his head and she felt his hands settle on her waist, large and comforting through her dress.

“Doctor,” she whispered, the word a broken bit of pain. **_There’s me_**.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and she felt his shuddering breath along her skin. The coolness of it sent shivers down Rose’s spine. She whispered his name again or thought she did and swore with every fiber of her being she heard his answer.

Not with her ears, but with her very soul.

Rose pressed her lips to his temple. **_There’s me_** , she silently told him one final time. And hoped he knew he could always talk to her. Always confide in her. She’d never betray him, not ever.

Would only protect him. _Forever_.

The Doctor stiffened and pulled back. Confused, Rose looked up at him, her fingers trailing along his neck, down his shoulders only to fall, useless, at her sides. She couldn’t read his expression, they stood in the shadows of the building, but the unfathomable look on his face remained inscrutable.

“Doctor?” The word a breath between them.

Rose cleared her throat, off balance now with him looking at her like that. She couldn’t decipher any meaning behind the carefully blank look.

He watched her another moment before straightening fully. The grin he shot her was his jovial one, the borderline false look of all’s well.

“Shall we?”

Rose sighed but nodded. She slipped her hand through his arm once more and let him lead her toward the performance hall. And while they watched the orchestra play, a gorgeous performance of crescendo and decrescendo that made her want to listen to the swell of feeling over and over again, she held his hand even while utterly entranced.

Afterward, feeling soft and quiet, Rose let him lead her from the hall. Outside was cold now, and she shivered in the breeze. The Doctor pulled back, released her hand. Confused, she looked up.

He shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Rose whispered. And may have breathed deeply of his scent.

He gave her a quiet grin, so unlike the normal wide one, that her heart tugged at the sight. Oh, she could so easily love this man. Trip over that one final barrier, the line she made for herself in the sand, and fall.

“Come on, Rose,” the Doctor said and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
